


we're not oprhans

by tigerbox



Category: Bates Motel (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5997486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerbox/pseuds/tigerbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dylan & emma decide to take a road trip after telling norman about their relationship. a temporary escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're not oprhans

Telling Norman about them goes by in a blur. There's a short blackout episode. Screaming. A maddening chase up the woods and to the farm. And then just like that, Dylan's barn and cabin are gone. The flames engulf it all so quickly, they don't even have a chance to say their goodbyes. Norman snaps out of his blackout just in time to see the roof of the barn cave in besides itself before he walks away, too ashamed to mutter an apology. Caleb, Gunner, Emma and Dylan stand around in a sort of grieving silence, but he's got no place besides them. The smell of burning marijuana plants overtaking the lakeside is strong enough to follow him home.

And then just like that, they leave him behind. Just a brief time to enjoy normalcy. It's not going to be long, they swear, exchanging a look between themselves before they run away from him. From Norma. From Norma and Norman.

It's going to be their own little secret this time.

 

Emma feels minuscule in Dylan's truck. She only takes up half of the passenger seat even with her oxygen tank. Dylan places a reassuring hand over her hand on her lap, warm and new. It's a weird feeling she thinks, just how massive and large his hand is compared to hers that it swallows her own palm from eyesight. Somehow, she manages to count all his calluses and palm veins before the ride is over.

Portland is unexpectedly closer than either one of them hopes. When Dylan turns the engine off, the truck sitting still in a motel parking lot, eerily similar to the Bates one, they retract their hands, disappointed. The rain never stops falling outside, casting an odd hue of aqua over the neon lights of the motel sign, _'No va-n-y._ ' Emma fidgets first, unable to look at anything past the slate of rain making hard thuds against the windshield of Dylan's truck like a personal attack on them.

Dylan grabs her hand again, hopeful.

"Maybe there's more sunshine in California."

 

They make a pit stop the second they reach the California border at Emma's request. She grins wide, cute gaps between her teeth gleaming as she clutches her camera to her chest, eagerly opening the door, struggling to make a balanced leap out of the raised car.

"I need to have my A Walk to Remember moment," she says when Dylan curiously follows her out of the car where they stand by the sign on the highway. It's the first time either one of them has ever been to California; palm trees, sunny skies, famous people, miles and miles away from home. It can't follow them here.

"Let's take our first picture together here," Emma pinches Dylan's arm forcing him to focus on her little Nikon.

"Naw, I'm not so good with pictures." he tries to pull away, suddenly shy but she keeps her hand firm on his arm. She thinks of the first time she visited the Bates house, photo upon photo of Norman with Norma flooding the hallway walls and the coffee tables, but barely any family photos of Dylan being a kid, being loved.

"We've got to make new memories, Dylan," she insists, reversing the camera so they can see their reflection in the back view. Hesitantly he places his arm around her shoulder, bringing her close as she tilts them so the _"WELCOME TO CALIFORNIA"_ sign can be seen in the background for posterity. When she smiles, he attempts to copy, only becoming an authentic one when she leans up just at the nick of the shutter to kiss his cheek for shock value. It takes Dylan five minutes to stop staring at the picture before they head back on the road. It's perfect.

 

California promises them a lot. The ride down the Pacific Coast Highway gives them a plethora of false hope. Dylan resents it, that people could have been living in sunshine like this, oblivious to everything around them, without carrying the weight of the world on their shoulder. Emma takes frequent naps on the drive, the differences in altitude hard to adjust to. Every time she wakes up and sputters when she comes to stings Dylan a little, hurt that she'd never gotten the opportunity to know something better. When she coughs, she turns and gives him apologetic looks, ashamed smiles.

"Don't do that. It doesn't bother me, you know."

"I just feel bad coughing in the middle of your nonstop Nickelback session."

"Hey- don't mock the Nickelback. They're a classic, alright?"

(They listen to radio silence for the duration of the ride. It's much better.)

Maybe the best part of a road trip is the shack snacks. Roasted nuts on the side of the highway, too hard beef jerky every twenty miles, questionable caffeine flavors, over greasy diner hamburgers, a measly plate of fresh fruit to make up for all their previous mistakes upon complaint of grumbling stomachs. They regress to being five again, taking back their stolen childhood.

 

They settle somewhere right off the west coast, far down the state line. Neither of them admits it, but they enjoy the view from the hotel of the ocean, the wide expanse of the clear water something akin to the view they'd get back at home. Just a little piece of familiarity. Nothing to feel guilty over.

They don't start the romance right away most nights. More-so they fall into a fresh, getting to know you kind of pattern. Dylan senses Emma's fatigue at the slightest flutter of her eyelids as they sit on the balcony, watching the waves rumble with inner turmoil.

"Come on," he says, now knowing what to do. He sets her gently on the floor before the bed, towels spread, tucking her head gently under a pillow. She looks up at him inquisitively, mostly in quiet wonder as to how she's become so lucky.

"Am I hurting you?" he always asks without fail after she's done coughing up a lung, quite literally, hunched over on her side, his fingers grazing her hair back so the phlegm doesn't get caught in it so considerately. They exchange that look, the understanding one, his fingers tucking expertly under her chin until she's able to compose herself in her own time and formulate a sentence without feeling like her insides are collapsing upon themselves.

"This always felt a lot different when it was my dad doing it." she raises an eyebrow, comical, the situation, Dylan hovering over on all fours like a wolf ready to pounce. His face contorts despite himself, not liking any comparison to her father of all things. Her dad's a great person no doubt, but not in that state his mind trails to. He jumps off her standing upright, tucking his hands in his pockets like he used to all the time, the times where she barely knew him, when they never had anything to talk about. Except for Norman.

"That's a good thing right?"

"I should hope."

 

There are other times Dylan hovers her, the real ones. He treats her more fragile than she likes, most of the time. They leave the balcony doors open so they can hear the waves crash and burn alongside the sounds of their bodies interlocking. It's serene, the sound of the ocean, the way there's a chill and yet the air tastes so warm and salty in the middle of the night. He's less wolf like and more like something wild and fumbling at first, unsure of what to do with the tank, her cannula, the space between them, afraid to crush her lithe frame.

"You can't break me that easily," she reminds him in a whisper, inviting him with a soft hand around his ear, the nerves of his neck, his bareback. He learns to get over it, forget about her limitations, letting his animal instinct take over after a while. It's doesn't take long. Emma likes this version of Dylan more, the raw one, the one who gets caught up in the moment and doesn't hesitate to inject his tongue in her mouth for heavy slow kisses that linger with no distinction of remembering that she has a hard time breathing. It hurts when he bites her shoulder blades, leaving fang-like imprints, but she savors it with pride, a distinction of him embedded on her skin. He loses himself in the curves of her skin, dipping his head between locks of her hair when he bucks too hard, thrusting hips into hers so fervently until it feels like the walls are caving in around them.

"Sorry," he fumbles around as soon as they climax, eyes stinging, bodies pulsating, sweet skin slick with a sheen of sweat, clamoring off of her quickly, unable to look her in the eye as she catches her breath.

"Hey," it's her turn to cup his chin, bringing him closer to her, so close she can feel the nervous trademark of his eyelashes fluttering open and shut way too fast. "I enjoy this as much as you do. Don't ever make yourself feel guilty for it."

She skirts her hand under the covers, snaking it around his bare waist, tracing the lines of his abdomen, the cold line of where his hip bones jut out, and then some more, until he's blushing pink, teeth glowing, heated feelings unraveling besides his resistance, fingers wrapping around her own waist for late night tickle fights.

 

They cuddle sometimes, sand digging between their feet, colorful beach towel splayed prettily below them. A collection of seashells, a pathetic sandcastle with a moat, half-empty milkshake cups - touristy things.

"I don't want to go back," Dylan mumbles, nuzzling his head into Emma's neck where everything is smooth and comforting. She scoops a clump of sand with her big toe proudly, dumping it onto Dylan's unsuspecting foot until the pile is so big he can't possibly stand up on his own.

"We need to go back," she says sadly. "My dad probably misses me. Norman and Norma miss you too."

They try to remember what their families look like together, fragments of noses and eye-shapes becoming just a blur. Dylan creates lucid circles on the small of Emma's back, massaging her tenderly when the air turns cold and high tide comes to play. He motions to leave, but she refuses, turning her body into his, folding her knees up, making an indent of herself upon his side until there's no such thing as space ever between them.

"Let's just stay here for a little while longer."

They take another picture on the Nikon, one of the pier extending out past their eyesight, the wooden planks going past the break of the ocean. They attempt to memorize everything about this place, ingrain it into the back of their skulls like it never existed for them in the first place.

 

They leave California, slightly more pallor to their skin, more miles on the truck and sand between their sandals.

They enter White Pine Bay, hands clasped, fingers intertwined, a simple light kiss on the forehead when Dylan opens the door for Emma when they say their farewells.


End file.
